A very bad one.
I’m staring at a land-lease clause for the fifth time when I realize I haven’t actually read a single word.
“You’re not reading that,” Corin says suddenly.
I glance up. He’s watching me from across the desk, his dark eyes unreadable. His linen shirt is open one extra button. As usual trying to kill me.
“Sure I am,” I lie.
“You’ve been on the same paragraph for ten minutes.”
Busted.
I set down my black gel pen. “Fine. I’m distracted.”
“By what?”
By you, you infuriating man.
“You know what I finally figured out?” I tell him.
He arches an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“Four weeks ago, after you had me bent over that desk in your study, you gave me the whole ‘we can’t do this again’ speech. Professional boundaries. You’re my boss. All very noble.And I actually respected that, Corin. I did. Agreed we’d reassess after the program ended. Four weeks. A finish line.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I see the slight tension in his shoulders.
“Except then,” I continue, “on what was supposed to be my last day... like literally hours before I was no longer going to be your employee... you go and extend the contract. Hire me for another week.”
“The clinic needed—”
“The clinic was fine.” I cut him off. “And sure, I get it, you didn’t want me to go back to Manhattan. You didn’t want us to end on bad terms after the argument we had that night. And I get it. Because I recognize I’m at fault, too. Because I was ready to run back to Manhattan after that argument. That’s one of my problems, isn’t it? I always run when things start to get bad. So I get it. Your extension was partly an olive branch. Something I could grab onto. An excuse to stay.
“But... you know what I think wasreallygoing on in that head of yours, other than the olive branch? I think you couldn’t make up your mind. You wanted me here, helping with the legal work, being useful. But the second we had that fight and I pushed back about you trying to protect me from Xavier’s mess, you panicked. Because suddenly I wasn’t just the convenient employee you could keep at arm’s length. I was someone who wanted all of you, including the messy, dangerous parts.”
He’s very still now, watching me with those dark eyes.
“So what did you do?” I smile wistfully. “You hired me again. Kept me close, but onyour terms. A week. A measly week. I could help with the clinic, sure. But the foundation problems? The real threat? No, you’d handle that alone. Push me away from anything that might actually make me a partner instead of just... what, a consultant you happen to sleep with?”
He seems visibly shocked at the suggestion, but I lean forward and keep talking, letting my frustration build. “That’s what you do, Corin. You want the best parts of intimacy. The sex, the company, someone to share things with. But the second things get real, the second there’s actual risk or vulnerability involved, you shut down. You make unilateral decisions about what I can handle, what I’m allowed to be part of.”
The air in the room has gone dangerously still.
“It’s all control,” I say quietly. “You control when we can be together by moving the goalposts. You control how involved I’m allowed to be by deciding which problems are ‘too dangerous’ for me. You control what parts of yourself you’ll share. I’ve never seen you cry, rarely see you laugh. You won’t let yourself be vulnerable, won’t let me see you as anything other than perfectly composed. The only time you actually let go is when you’re fucking, and even that feels like you’re trying to burn off feelings you won’t let yourself have any other way.”
His jaw tightens.
Good. I want a reaction.
There’s something dark flickering in his eyes now. Something that might be anger, or something else entirely.
“You don’t want to see me lose control,” he says quietly.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms, meeting that dark stare head-on. “Maybe I do.”
It’s a dare.
We both know it.
